Hour Nine
Dinosaur toys
Not just for boys
Rough and tumble was the way
I played
Tiger Mask
I’m wearing a tiger mask
it is papier mache and peeling on the edges
I took great pains to sculpt the fangs
Today, I am the predator.
My prey wears a nice suit
and now a bewildered expression
as the plunger depresses
and the insulin hits his veins.
2 weeks ago I held J’s blue body
he was stiff and his wife was screaming
he couldn’t afford it, because suit had to make another billion
and he fell in the kitchen while I was out
He rolls over and screams
padding at his sore arm
and I look him in the eyes
I am the predator today.
I won’t look away.
Fat Crow – Hour 8 Prompt
The Crow is a master scavenger. A sleek survivor
built to think, to adapt, to communicate, to overcome
the harshness of a world that is designed
to stop you the moment you look down.
With a head on a swivel, though,
you just may find a shiny thing,
a discarded bauble, a worthless treasure
worth picking up with only the slightest inclination
it can become something more.
A craftsman in cleverness, an inventor of ingenuity
a fat crow is a survivor, thriving in its creativity
in finding the value in the shiny thing
discarded by the world
that sees only desert trash.
Can it survive with out it? Probably,
but it may come in handy some day.
Midnight (Hour #9)
23:55; all is silent — all is dark
as right before the deepest hour
of the night sky, the stars are sent
to bed and clouds take their places.
It shall rain tonight again.
Between Worlds
“Between the woods and frozen lake”
fire draws me to its glow.
The moonless night, still and opaque,
bears witness to lay low.
There, in the distant trees I hear
his voice, deep, rough, and hard.
A melody of love and fear
has caught me full off-guard.
Who is this man whose fiddle plays
in distant woods alone?
I search through ivy walled keyways
to glimpse his mournful tone.
“I see you there,” he sings aloud
“through vines that tie you down.”
“Be not afraid, and be not proud,
that day I come around.”
“For joyless tears I turn to beer
from chaff he left behind.”
He sings for me! Do I go near?
“I sing for humankind.”
Then, all at once the keyways closed.
The man I heard was gone.
Yet smoke still in the air imposed
a strange phenomenon.
I turned toward the lake of ice
reflecting every star.
And, Oh! Before my naked eyes
appeared a strange montoir.
There he stood in horseman’s tack,
white stallions made of bone.
“Fair lady, may I take you back?”
I wondered of his tone.
Then I awoke in my own bed
from one more stress filled dream,
reminding my creative head
life isn’t what it seems.
Credit: “Between the woods and frozen lake” from Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost
Ponytail
It’s daily
The teeth
Fingers
Sand rakes?
We have sand rakes?
Stretching til a break
Gnawing like a beaver
Clawing like those buried alive seeking air.
Big teeth
Small hands
Is that 30 fingers?
30?
How?
Grabbing
Pulling
Scratching
My scalp is a burning patch.
No clear torch
But sparks everywhere.
Enough!
I put it in a ponytail.
Nope.
That just gives mom a handle.
Braid.
All the same.
Bun. Classic ballet bun.
Yeah.
No.
Nope.
They are tearing it down.
Arghhhh!
I’d shave it, but that is punishing me too.
I’d cut it in a pixie do.
But mom forced me into those my whole childhood.
The mere thought makes me want to vomit.
For now I stick to the dodge.
Swooshing like a ninja
Epiphany
my walk into the forest
revealed to harmony in nature
i didn’t know that the songs birds sing in the forest are properly choreographed
in unison with the trees and all
the birds do the vocals
the trees take to the dance floor
the wind is the choirmaster
some trees do percussion
catering fall under trees too
they serve wild berries
the fragrance from the flowers
keep the entire forest fresh and inviting
beees make honey for dessert
as they effortlessly help with pollination
nature’s process are properly measured and cut to fit
I set down nicely on a rocking rock
enjoying natural air-con under a big shady tree
i was marvelling nature and its serenity
when i was forced to take to my heels a big green Mamba fell next to me
i didn’t regret the forest
the harmony the hospitality the tranquility the beauty Oooh! forest you are organised you have a lot to teach us Please! teach us.
The Lover Prompt 8
What is it about you that compels me to
find you, to seek you out? Is there comfort,
or hope for a future with you? No! Yes! You
offer me nothing more than a short affair
no matter how many times I seek something
more from within your darkness. You come
to me in different forms. You hide behind
different names. You entwine and embed yourself
with others that dilute you, your taste, your smell,
your touch, how you feel upon my tongue. You . . .
what is it about you that compels me to
demand your best self, not just any self. Sometimes
you are warm, even hotter than the devil. At other times
more from within your darkness. You come
to me cool, chilled or frozen. You make me happy
and restore balance to my soul, my 90% cocoa.
For Ben
I haven’t made my favourite cakes
In quite a while. I lost the tins,
Some several flats ago.
I still buy all the things I need
Whenever they expire. I even found
Fancy cinnamon.
I keep it on the top shelf,
In the wrong bag. Waiting for the day
I can bake again.
Just before the last big move
I bought new tins. Star-shaped
Just like the ones I lost.
I don’t really like cinnamon,
Not much. But your smile
Makes them better than banana bread.
When my life is a straight line again, I will make some more for you.
I want more of always
I asked for something fun,
a line, a compliment, a joke, but
“…ultimately, even the sad ones can be happy.”
He’s reading my book
and thinking about memories.
I want my book to make men think about cunninlingus, so I guess it needs an edit.
Don’t tell me about sadness.
Don’t tell be about happiness.
I know those well.
I can get enough of those.
Lust, though, I want more of
always.